


Beati Bellicosi

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, M/M, Memory Loss, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11152272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: Karl and Anders were two young lovers living a peaceful life together, in a small farm village at the edge of the kingdom. But the war ravaged their country, and they were torn apart and sold as slaves to the invading nation. It’s now been ten years, and gladiator Karl has set his sights on winning the beautiful, blond-haired prize who looks incredibly familiar...





	Beati Bellicosi

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any concerns about the noncon + slavery + possible consent issues in this AU, please jump to the end notes for specifics (spoilers ahead).

_Beati Bellicosi  
◊ _blessed are the warriors_ ◊_

__

__

_When the war began, it was distant. An enemy, an invasion, the call for soldiers. At the time, it felt like a dream._

_Karl lived in a small village in the west, in the furthest reaches of the kingdom. He grew up there, knowing nothing more than life of a farm boy. He befriended the neighbor’s child, Anders, who captured his heart and never let it go. They were happy together, as much as they could be._

_Several years went by while the war pillaged the east. Word came through travellers and merchants, news that their nation was losing the war and that the battles and sieges were edging closer._

_It was midnight when they came. Karl woke to the sound of heavy, armored footsteps treading through the village. He heard war cries from men and women protecting their families, and screams of innocent children fleeing for their lives._

_When he dashed outside, his heart nearly stopped. The village was on fire, with enemy soldiers chasing and slaughtering anyone who resisted. Karl’s first instinct was to look for his parents but they were nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t spare the time to look more as the soldiers were closing in._

_He ran, his feet taking him somewhere, anywhere but here. Karl glanced over his shoulder many times, expecting to have soldiers on his tail. He slammed into someone, a body no bigger than his own. He jolted out of surprise, catching his balance as he skid to a stop. Familiar amber eyes stared wildly back at him._

_“Karl!” Anders shouted, chest heaving under his night tunic. Suddenly he lurches forwards, flinging his arms around Karl in a desperate embrace. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Mama… sh-she’s—”_

_The barn beside them started crumbling from the flames, spitting out embers hot enough to scorch skin. Karl grabbed hold of his love’s wrist and pulled. “We have to get out of here.”_

_They ran, past the buildings they grew up in, past burned corpses with unmistakable faces, away from those still left alive and screaming while the invaders took them. They almost made it to the edge of the village._

_Almost._

_Another building fell, cutting off the escape route Karl was depending on to save their lives. The soldiers behind them were shouting, cornering them. Karl held onto Anders’ hand tightly, looking desperately for a way out. There wasn’t one._

_They’re taken captive, dragged back to the enemy capital in chains. They clung to each other as much as possible, not letting go for anything in fear of being separated._

_They’re auctioned off like cattle, stripped of their clothing as well as their names and dignity. The auction guards had to pry them apart, Karl punching two out cold before he was hit so hard his vision spun and was led stumbling to the stage. His display drove the bids high and Karl was sold to a noble family looking for a champion fighter, while Anders was sold to another family for a similar price._

_The terror in Anders’ eyes was the last thing Karl saw of his love._

◊

It’s hot in the chamber, but Karl has never had the pleasure of anything else. He can already feel a layer of sweat building as he pulls on his armor. The leather straps and silverite buckles latch together, fitted perfectly to his body. It goes on in layers, more work than Karl would like it to be but it wasn’t him who chose the design.

Behind him, two other slaves busy themselves with assisting him with his armor and weapons. _‘Rheneas and Nadine’_ he reminds himself. It’s always important to remember their names, it’s all they have left. He’s not sure if they had names and lives before, or if they were born into the life they currently live.

“Serah Spurius,” Rheneas addresses him, saying his name reverently as if he had any status over her. In a way he does, being their master’s favored champion, but Karl refuses to wield any power over his fellow slaves. She holds out his breastplate, waiting for him to step forward. He does, and Nadine quickly laces it to the backplate with skilled, nimble fingers.

The armor he dons today is different than what he’s worn in the past. More ornate, decorative, heavy. The combination of metal and leather shaped to his broadened body makes him look like the force of nature he has come to be. His master had it crafted more than half a year ago, and Karl has been careful not to get it too bloody.

He doesn’t realize who arrived before the two girls are bent at the waist, bowing deeply to their master who has just swept into the room. Karl turns to join them, bowing to the man who holds their leashes in his thick, bejeweled fingers. Ser Siegbert is an older gentleman, with greying hair, a large family, and an even larger wealth.

“Spurius,” he says, calling Karl by the name he picked for him all those years ago. _‘It means champion, which you will become as your life depends on it,’_ he remembers his master saying, marking the last day that ‘Karl’ existed. “What a momentous day this shall be, hm?”

“Yes, Master,” Karl replies. He can promise no less.

“As you might know, the match is against the Devoni household,” his master continues, the surname coming out like acid on his tongue.

Karl vaguely knows of them, having fought their champion once before. They’re a rival family, meaning this match is extremely important to both his master and Karl’s future as a breathing human being.

“The stakes are a little different than last time, as I have made a little wager with Devoni. If he wins, which I’m certain he will not,” Ser Siegbert continues pointedly, “you will be transferred to his household.”

Karl’s hand curls into a fist behind his back, feeling a stormy brew of disappointment and fury build in him. He’s been wagered.

“What he’ll do with you, I’ll never know. Surely that bastard wouldn’t have the gall to put you in the ring in his honor. Anyway, if I win… I get his most prized pleasure slave.”

 _‘You’re disgusting,’_ Karl thinks, careful to make sure the words don’t leave his thoughts. He always felt for the body slaves—being used and abused in one of the worst ways conceivable. To his knowledge, his master already had plentiful body slaves, far too many for one man. Why wager his sole champion fighter for just another body slave?

“Don’t lose this for me, boy,” Siegbert says, voice low and threatening as he shoves a finger in Karl’s face. “Or I’ll make sure you get punished before that damned Devoni gets his hands on you.”

Karl fights the urge to snap at the man. Of course he’ll do his best to win—it’s his life on the line, not his master’s. The only thing Siegbert is risking is a slight humiliation of the loss of reputation and property, while a household transfer could hold a much darker future for Karl.

Satisfied with Karl’s answer, the man spins on his heel and struts from the chamber without another word.

“Serah Spurius,” Nadine says quietly after ensuring that their master is truly gone. He turns to see his polished sword laid across her hands.

He blinks down at it, feeling more pressure than ever before. Karl inhales deeply, wrapping his hand firmly around the hilt and taking the weapon from her. The weight and feel of it in his grip is almost comforting, something that’s become an extension of his arm, something he relies on to help him see another day.

“Thank you, Nadine. To the both of you,” he says, the sincerity in his heart audible in every syllable. He always thanks them, as every fight could be his last, but today it feels especially necessary. He takes up his shield, strapping it tightly around his left forearm before turning toward the hall that leads toward the upcoming battle.

The arena is bright, nearly blinding him the moment he steps foot onto the hard-packed dirt. The sun shines down, the rays against his skin far too warm and beautiful for a day where Karl might meet his death. It were days like these that he used to finish his fieldwork early to go lie in the grass with… 

Karl sighs, reminding himself _‘not now, don’t think of him now.’_ He needs to keep things together if he’s going to survive.

As with most matches, the stands encircling the arena are crowded with people shouting, chanting, and cheering. Both noble and common folk come together for such occasions, all there to see bloodshed and gore, the possible death of a noble family’s warrior.

He’s long since learned to tune them out, a skill that every warrior must learn in order to stay alive. When the roaring crowds fade to a dull buzz, Karl’s able to focus on his breathing, heightening his concentration and beginning the ritual he’s crafted over the years.

He stalks the arena’s perimeter, checking for any uneven ground or rocks—things to be weary of, things he could use to his advantage. There was once a match where he nearly took a sword to the chest because he tripped on an exposed rock jutting out from beneath the sandy dirt, causing an injury that put him at a grave disadvantage for the rest of the match. He was so young at the time, more limber but less experienced. He’s come far since then, accomplishing many feats but making just as many mistakes.

His heart still beats and air still flows through his lungs, and that’s the only thing that matters.

Sweat is already forming a sheen on his skin from the sun beating down on him for only a few minutes. He’ll have to take that into account, knowing he’ll slide a little more in his leather sandals and any touch to metal will burn after time. He has scars up his left arm where the sun-warmed metal of his shield burned wherever it touched. It’s turning out to be a hot day, he’ll have to finish the match quickly.

He passes the special section where the two rival houses reside, separating from each other and the masses by draped silks tied back by ropes spun from gold and bronze. Both families are present in full, no member wishing to miss such an occasion to see and be seen, to witness the defeat of the other. They’re surrounded by slaves with fans and jugs of water and wine, looking cooler in the shade than Karl ever hopes to be.

Having circled the entirety of the arena, Karl stops before his master’s family and stiffly turns to face them. As is tradition, he drops to one knee and bows his head to honor his master, giving the ‘respect’ he has to show before every performance. 

When he stands, his eyes can’t help but to drift toward the next section where the Devoni family sits. The head of the household is Gerhard Devoni, perched in his large cushioned chair beside his wife. They whisper to each other, looking around the arena as if looking down their noses upon the commoners. 

The woman snaps, and a slave—just a small girl, no older than sixteen, just barely younger than Karl was when he was made a slave—steps forward to refill the woman’s cup. Her face is noticeably sullen, she must be new. The rest of the slaves stand silently, with blank faces that show no emotion. In their world, emotion is weakness, unacceptable by their masters’ standards.

Then Karl’s eyes settle on someone completely unique, standing out in the group. The man looks neither like a noble nor a slave, but Karl knows he must be the latter. 

Standing to the left of his master’s seat, the slave stands quietly, hands clasped in front of him. He’s draped with fine silk so sheer Karl can see the gold rings through the man’s nipples. Long black pants flow from his trim waist, gathered at his ankles by gold cuffs and held by an ornate belt with precious stones embedded in each link. There’s a chain, brightly polished and plated with gold that shines warmly in the sunlight, that trails up to his neck, connecting to a thick matching collar clasped around his neck. His face is shrouded by a dark veil, but Karl doesn’t need to see his face to know that this is the rival family’s ‘most prized pleasure slave.’

The one he was wagered for.

Karl frowns, turning away from the stands to hide his disdain. It’s appalling how all these damned nobles treat others they consider beneath them. Slavery didn’t exist in his homeland, not even in the capital city. But here people are bought, traded, and used as if they were property, an object and nothing more.

It’s these damn nobles who have put him here—in this land, in this arena, in this role in society—in the first place.

The Devoni family’s champion emerges from the opposite gate and the battle begins. The crowd grows louder, cheering and yelling taunts and names to distract them. The other warrior is enormous, his bulk accentuated by his armor that bares more of his flesh than necessary. It’s a dumb ploy, Karl thinks, giving him so many tender areas to aim for in exchange for looking more menacing.

His opponent is wicked fast, but Karl is faster. Their swords meet with the sounds of sharpened metal scraping against each other. Karl finds himself relying on his shield more than he’s used to, blocking the impressively hard strikes that send tremors through his whole body.

It’s a dance unlike any other, where they battle to take the lead. Karl’s footwork keep him ahead, putting him out of harm’s way and toward his enemy’s weaknesses. Seeing an opening, he lunges forward, quickly slashing at the vulnerable flesh uncovered by armor. Blood spurts out of a vein and the other warrior cries out, but his yell turns into a terrifying war cry that bellows across the field.

There’s a flash of movement, a shield heading toward his chest at incredible speed. Karl’s knocked off his feet, falling to the ground without grace. His head hits the stone hard and for a moment he sees black.

It seems like an eternity, but he finally does come back to himself. There’s a ringing in his ears, so loud it blocks out the noise of the screaming crowds. His blurry vision begins to clear, eyes focusing on the nearest object. The stands rise before him, just above the wall of the pit.

He sees the rival house’s private sitting area come into view. Madame Devoni looks quite pleased, smiling as she sips at her wine and watches them intently. Karl’s eyes drift to her husband, now seated with the prized slave on his lap. The slave has shed his veil, and as Karl blinks the last remaining spots from his vision, he can see a familiar shade of golden blond.

 _‘No, it can’t be,’_ Karl thinks, looking more carefully at the slave’s all-too-familiar features before his heart nearly stops. _‘It is.’_

_Anders._

The body slave his master wants, the other end of the wager, is none other than the love of his life.

His mind is still reeling when a shadow falls over him. Painfully turning his head, Karl looks up to see his opponent’s large head blocking out the sun as he stands over him. The metal in his hand glints, catching Karl’s attention as he raises the sword above his head in a fatal strike. He can just barely hear the gentle whoosh as it slices through the air.

Finally grasping hold of his mind and body, Karl rolls away just as the sword plunges into the ground just inches from where his neck was seconds earlier. The crowd boos in disappointment but return to avid cheering when Karl pulls himself back to his feet into a ready stance.

Karl feels a second wind of renewed energy roll over him, reinvigorated due to the fact that he now has something to fight for. _Someone_ to fight for.

He’s never fought so hard for something in his life.

By the end of the battle, both warriors are panting heavily, bodies tired from exertion. Karl has cuts here and there that bleed down his exposed skin, slick and sticky in the heat, but his opponent has a deeper gash in his shoulder. They’ve both been trained to shrug off injuries, fight through any pain they face, but it’s beginning to wear on them.

Karl’s mind whirls with thoughts of strategy, calculating just how many hits it would take to take the man down. The metal of his shield digs into his wrist and elbow, burning the skin there until it’s shiny and red. After taking a moment to consider the possibilities, Karl reaches and unstraps his shield and it falls to the ground with a clang. Now free of the painful distraction, Karl wraps his both hands around the haft of his sword, steeling himself for one final onslaught.

It only takes a few more strikes, but finally, Karl’s opponent falls in defeat.

◊

After Karl is bathed, injuries stitched, and dressed in his only set of finery, he’s summoned to the great hall for the victory feast thrown in his honor. He knows the banquet isn’t actually for him, just for the nobility to brag to one another while basking in their lavish decadence.

Karl couldn’t care for it all, but he is desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Anders.

The great hall is brimming with people when he arrives without fanfare. He hasn’t attended such an affair in several months, and already he’s reminded of how repulsive they are. There are just as many slaves as nobles, it seems, both serving their masters food or attending to other needs. Karl’s eyes catch on the exposed flesh of a body slave, pleasing his mistress as she laughs and banters with her friends. He forces himself to look away; in his homeland, sex was something private, between people who loved each other, or at least between people who both wanted it.

This… this country… It’s so backward in all the worst ways.

It’s all repulsive. The whole party is absolutely detestable and makes his stomach churn. Not the slaves but the nobles who think they can own other people, use their bodies without concern nor consent, using them as a display of wealth, power, and status.

When the dinner bell is rung, he settles on his cushion at the long table several places away from his master’s grand chair. Karl casts a quick glance to see that some nobles have forgone the feast entirely, disappearing into pillowed nooks and alcoves for their own entertainment. They’re hardly private nor hidden, with body slaves in plain sight as they follow their masters’ every command.

Though Karl faces the prospect of death weekly and pushes his body past the limits during everyday training, he couldn’t imagine a life as a body slave. Now that he knows Anders has spent the past ten years as one, Karl’s heart aches in his chest over what his lover must have endured.

Those attending dinner gather around the feast table, now being overloaded with more food than Karl has ever seen in his life. Serving slave after serving slave bring more and more to the table, and Karl’s stomach growls in hunger after eating naught but a small breakfast that day. He eats modestly, unlike some of the other table occupants. While the food is delicious, he misses the solitude and peace of his small quarters stationed near the training grounds.

Karl is slowly sipping sweet wine from a gold cup when finally he sees him. Anders emerges from their master’s wing of the sprawling mansion, looking stunning in his new clothes. Gone are the flowing black pants and veil, along with the golden collar and chain that adorned his neck at the arena. Now his hips are hugged by a beaded gold belt laced up the back, while a thin green skirt just barely covers his front and backside with its long, narrow tails. The design accentuates his long legs, exposing them for all to see, keeping him mostly exposed to be the entertainment he was bought to be.

Anders comes to obediently stand beside his new master, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. His hands stay folded in front of him, as if they were bound, waiting patiently for a command to do anything more than breathe and exist.

Karl itches to talk to him and spends the rest of dinner staring at Anders, desperately hoping to catch his attention if only for a moment. But Anders keeps his head ducked as to not disrespect any of the nobility in the room, to not overstep any bounds in his new household. No one addresses Karl, not even looking in his direction throughout the meal, and his practical invisibility gives him plenty of opportunity to closely watch his lover.

What once was soft in Anders has changed—his features more angular but just as beautiful, his long gold hair brushing his shoulders carefully styled back unlike Karl’s own messy cropped hair. His limbs have gone from lanky and scrawny to long and lean. His skin glows in radiance, accented with all the jewelry that decorates his body. While he’s lost all characteristics of his boyhood, there’s still something underneath it all that reminds Karl of their youth.

If only Anders would look up, to see Karl, to have their eyes meet for the first time in ten years.

“What a prize you’ve won, Ser Siegbert,” one of the nobles at the table says, loudly over the other conversations. “He’s quite the beauty.”

His master laughs. “Maybe he is, but I’ve plenty of pleasure slaves, even ones more beautiful—”

 _‘There’s no one more beautiful than Anders,’_ Karl thinks, skillfully keeping all emotion off his face. Perhaps he should be glad that his master doesn’t find Anders as attractive. Maybe it’ll keep his hands off him.

“But best put him to some use, hm? Before he forgets his place.”

Or not.

His master snaps his fingers and points down to his lap. Karl’s heart sinks when Anders steps forward and immediately drops to his knees between their master’s thighs, almost as if he has no will at all, as if this is his one and only purpose.

Beautiful amber eyes fall closed as he nuzzles the man through his pants. Karl’s stomach lurches, his eyes glued on Anders’ every movement. He knows what’s coming, what’s going to happen next, but part of Karl refuses to believe it. After pulling out the man’s cock, Anders doesn’t hesitate one moment before taking the entire length into his mouth. Immediately he finds a rhythm, steadily working his lips and hand in tandem.

“Well, well, pretty _and_ useful,” his master remarks, leisurely taking a sip from his wine before tipping his head back. “Who would have thought something so well-trained would have come from House Devoni?”

The nobility around the table laugh, light and pleasant as if they just heard an entertaining joke.

Karl scowls at how everyone in the room regards Anders as just a thing, how all the body slaves are just objects to be used to be one day thrown away. This outright display of power is repulsive, but yet he can’t look away. Anders looks horrendously natural at it, cheeks hollowing as he bobs his head up and down. His pink lips become slick with spit, gold hair falling in his face as he continues to service his master. Karl isn’t entirely sure whether to be glad or upset that his view is partially obscured by the table.

Unable to keep himself from watching, Karl watches Siegbert’s ring-laden fingers dig into Anders’ hair, gripping and yanking his head back just in time. Thick ropes of come splatter across Anders’ face, over his cheeks and down his chin. Anders’ eyes flutter open, looking up at his master from beneath heavy lids while panting.

“You there,” Siegbert says, rudely pointing a finger at one of the nearby attending slaves. A woman, older and more worn from the labor of heavy housework, steps forward to silently listen for instructions. “Take this one to one of the empty guest quarters. Prepare him for Spurius.” 

Karl’s attention is immediately captured at the mention of his slave name, eyes instantly darting to his master.

“I saw how you looked at him,” Siegbert begins, smirking while casting a knowing yet unnerving glance at him, “and I don’t blame you. Since you won, I’ll grant you the first night with my new prize.”

 _‘He’s not yours!’_ Karl wants to hiss, but he knows better. Instead his mouth stays shut, only nodding and trying to look grateful. His eyes are trained on Anders, who is being led back into the private wing of the estate without a single look back.

In the room then, Karl decides. They’ll reunite at last, after all these years.

He spends the rest of the feast feeling anxious to go to whichever guest room, knowing who is awaiting him there. Since no noble would dare wasting time and energy speaking with the likes of a lowly slave, even a champion fighter, Karl allows himself to get lost in his imagination. He wonders what it will be like. Will Anders smile warmly and run into his arms? Will they spend the evening catching up, wrapped in each other’s comforting presence? Will they start discussing how to escape their lives of slavery together? 

Finally, after one of the most agonizing evenings he’s ever experienced, Karl is released from the grand hall to find out.

He excuses himself from the table, dropping to one knee once more to show his master and the surrounding nobility the respect they do not deserve. The same attending woman that escorted Anders leads Karl through the private wing, past so many rooms and doors that he’s unable to fathom how one single family is able to use them all. He’s never been past the great hall, always being restricted to the outlying training grounds that house his quarters, the armory, and a practice arena.

“What’s your name?” He asks, trailing only a step or two behind the woman. Though no fellow slave uses their birth name anymore, Karl always makes a point to get to know the people around him.

“Assa, serah,” comes her short, clipped reply. Karl ducks his head and smiles. Though she addressed him with a respectful title, Assa didn’t try to keep her impatience a secret. No matter what kind of appearance and reputation he might have to other slaves, he’s no better than her, and she knows it.

He’s practically buzzing with excitement, his heart growing lighter knowing the distance between him and his long lost love is growing smaller. Assa glances at him over her shoulder, a flash of disgust pressed into the wrinkled lines of her face. Karl’s merry expression immediately drops from his face. She must think he’s excited to spend the night with “master’s new pleasure slave,” not to see his beloved Anders for the first time in more than a decade. Karl clears his throat, keeping his eyes forward as he follows Assa through the mansion’s labyrinth of corridors.

They come to a stop before an ornate door with gold-leafed carvings and inset gems in the handles. Assa stands to the side, gesturing for Karl to enter the room and leave her to return to her normal duties.

He didn’t know what he expected, but the room he enters is much different, much _more_ than he ever imagined. The room is spacious, a large square with high vaulted ceilings and towering arched windows that overlook one of the estate’s many ornately cultivated courtyards, well lit from the full moon’s light. The stone floors are well-swept, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen, and an enormous animal skin rug is set into the center.

On the far side of the room is a large mattress set into a hand-carved frame, decorated with more gold and gemstones much like the door. It’s covered with richly dyed silks and expensive furs, overstuffed pillows of more shapes and sizes than Karl knows what to do with.

But on those pillows is Anders, sprawled out across them looking like a decadent dessert. His face has been washed and the khol and gold cheek powder have been skillfully reapplied. The gentle curve of his body causes Karl’s eyes to be caught, to be guided along the line of his shoulder, to his waist, then over his hip. Laden with gold jewelry—bangles around his arms, ankles, and wrists, and piercings all over—Anders looks more like a piece of art than a slave, but Karl knows none of it is of his own free will.

Amber eyes settle on him, and before he can say his name, Anders speaks with the voice that Karl hasn’t heard in far too long.

“Good evening, Serah Spurius,” Anders says, low and seductive.

The sound of his fake name sounds so wrong coming from those sweet lips, making Karl pause. “An—”

Before he can finish, Anders has already hopped off the bed. He strides with bare feet across the great furry rug, the sheer fabric of his waist-skirt billowing around him in the gentle breeze. It shows Karl a little too much, most likely serving its intended purpose. Ringed fingers curl around Karl’s wrist, gently pulling him toward the bed and, in a daze, Karl lets himself be led to the bed and pushed into sitting on the edge.

There’s something different about Anders’ eyes—not the color, but what’s inside them. There’s nothing in the other man’s eyes that tells him anything, no additional emotion nor even a spark of recognition.

“How would you like me to please you?” Anders asks, slowly sinking to his knees, this time between Karl’s legs instead of their master’s. His palms flatten against his thighs, running up them in a slow, provocative show of confident temptation.

Karl immediately feels sick to his stomach, his meager meal threatening to make a reappearance. “W-what?” he asks, feeling nearly dumbfounded by the question.

“I said how would you like me to please you?” Anders replies, not skipping a beat nor batting an eye. “I’ve been instructed to please whomever my master chooses: you. Shall I suck you first?”

“I… I, uhm—” Stammering, Karl’s breath gets caught in his chest. The sight of Anders right in front of him after all these years, all grown and beautiful… makes Karl start to go hard beneath his tunic.

Before he can continue, Anders has already released his cock from the confines of his underclothes, long slender fingers wrapping around the thickening base. A pink tongue darts out from between his lips, teasing the tip with an artistry that only comes with years practice. A needy moan escapes Karl’s lips involuntarily, having not felt this kind of touch in such a long time—especially from a lover.

Anders’ eyes light up at the noise, the corners of his lips turning up before parting to take Karl into his mouth. He begins sucking in earnest, lavishing his cock with all the attention that Karl’s subconsciousness deeply desires.

Despite the opposite during the feast, Karl can’t find it in himself to look at Anders, feeling a rather frightening mix of shock and shame brewing within him. Trying not to focus on the hot, velvety mouth working over his cock, Karl’s mind begins whirling wildly. Everything about this, about Anders, is so very wrong. And though Karl wishes anything else were the truth, it finally sinks into his heart like barbed teeth:

_Anders doesn’t remember him._

He thinks Karl is just another noble slave, someone to serve at the command of whoever owns his leash. He’s acting solely on his training in order to survive, to be treated better, almost like a human being. Best to be a good, obedient slave than a beaten or dead one.

Suddenly the weight of the entire world falls into Karl’s gut, bringing his heart and soul into the great dark pit along with it. He feels something inside him break, shattering to a million pieces and scattering to the wind. A misty wetness forms at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to talk to Anders, hold and kiss him as they plan taking back their freedom together.

This is the last thing he wanted.

Karl lets out a quiet disappointed groan when Anders pulls off, the thin string of saliva connecting lips to cock is hypnotizing. Anders looks up at him, eyes full of lust and allure, and all words Karl has been mustering up get trapped in his throat. 

Rising to his feet, Anders takes a step away from Karl and tilts his hips to one side. He makes a show of reaching behind his back, fingers deftly working at the gold belt’s lacing without even looking. It’s only seconds before the garment—belt and narrow skirting—falls to the floor.

Karl’s mouth goes dry. Anders’ cock hangs between his legs, not yet hard but getting there. The glint of gold catches his eye—a piercing, a gold loop with a ball much like the ones through his nipples, threads through the blushing tip of his cock. It must have hurt when he got it, but Karl feels awash with shame that he finds the sight of it so enticing. 

Anders is so different from what he remembers, and it occurs to Karl that what he remembers might not even have been the real Anders—a memory can change a lot over ten years. He’s grown into a dazzling young man, if not a little skinny, but it’s all the more heartbreaking. Karl wants to call out to him, but it catches in his throat like a bird stuck in a cage. He stays silent, made mute by the wickedly intoxicating view before him.

In a blink, Anders is straddling his thighs, sharp knees pressing into the mattress and surrounding pillows on each side. Slender fingers take his hand, guiding it toward the swell of his ass to the valley of his cheeks.

Just as Karl’s fingers brush up against his slick hole, Anders leans in to whisper in his ear. “I prepared myself for you.”

Instantly Karl withdraws his hand, wriggling and pulling away from Anders as much as possible while still being trapped underneath him. _Wrong,_ everything is so wrong. This isn’t right, this isn’t Anders. This isn’t _his_ Anders, not anymore. He has no right to his body, no one does, and Karl has no inclination to join the list of people who have taken what can’t be freely given.

Blue eyes flicker up, connecting with Anders’ distraught amber ones. He looks stricken, frowning at Karl while he sits back on his haunches, perched precariously on Karl’s knees.

“Have I done something wrong?” Anders asks, sounding just like a slave worrying about how their master might view a mistake. “Do you not want me?”

Karl cringes. Only the exact opposite. “Of… of course I want you,” Karl begins, adding _‘just not like this, please not like this’_ only in his head. He feels that sick uneasiness start to return when he sees how soothed Anders is by the statement. The man is broken, thinking that his worth depends on being wanted, on serving others with his body.

Fully settling back on Karl’s lap, Anders tosses his arms around Karl’s neck, drawing so close they can feel each other’s breaths across their skin. “Then please let me serve you, or master will be upset.”

Enraptured by just how close Anders is, Karl’s gaze turns toward Anders’ face, their eyes getting caught on each other. Not breaking eye contact, Anders reaches between them and takes hold of Karl’s cock, guiding it in as he slowly lowers himself. And Karl can’t find it in himself to fight it. When the tip breaches, Karl feels a shudder roll through his body, intensified only by how Anders’ eyes lower and he softly gasps.

Arms wrapped around Karl’s shoulders again, Anders sinks down his length inch by inch. He moans obscenely into Karl’s ear, grasping and holding onto him as he grinds down until he can no more. Though prepared, Anders is a tight grip around his cock, and Karl honestly can’t remember the last time he’s been so close to someone, both physically and intimately.

For a few, very precious moments, they stay completely still as if frozen in time. If Karl closed his eyes, he could almost imagine they were ten years younger, fooling around behind the neighbor’s farm shed and talking about getting married the moment they’re able. They planned on spending the rest of their lives together, living happily in their village until they died of old age.

But the spell, though entrancing, is broken when Anders begins to move.

Like instinct, Karl’s own arms immediately wrap around Anders, holding him tightly around the waist and shoulders. Anders continues to fuck himself down onto Karl’s cock, quickly gaining speed and rhythm. He doesn’t make any attempt to hold back any noises, so Karl drinks in every puffing gasp and pleasured moan the man makes.

Being so close, Anders’ guard is down, his previous mask of seduction cracking to show a more earnest and open version of himself. It’s this solemn, ephemeral glimpse of the Anders he once knew that overcomes Karl with the almost irresistible urge to kiss him. But he stops himself, instead burying his face against Anders’ sharp collarbone and inhaling deeply.

There, beneath the moonlight, among the dozens of embroidered pillows and silken sheets, their bodies move together in tandem. The motions aren’t any different from when they were younger, but the two of them are almost completely different people now. The discrepancy between the feelings of aching familiarity and agonizing difference cuts deep, pushing Karl further from the moment.

Anders’ hold around his shoulders tightens ever so slightly, but it’s Karl who clings onto him as if this was the last time he’ll ever see Anders. Knowing his master’s preferences and general ill-will, this very well might be.

It’s not too long after that when Karl feels himself get closer to the edge. Anders must sense it, as he plants a hand on each of his shoulders before twisting and guiding them both down until Anders flat on his back with Karl hovering over him. Seeing Anders like this—nearly breathless, face and chest flushed, his hair spread out across the sheets—brings back one too many memories Karl has tried so hard to forget.

Anders’ previously unguarded expression flashes back to the faux seduction and self-assurance, encouraging Karl silently with his eyes, imploring him to take the lead.

Karl braces a hand on the mattress beside Anders’ head, curling his hand around the other man’s cock and jerking it in time with his thrusts. Anders’ legs lift to wrap around his waist, drawing them impossibly closer so Karl can go deeper than ever before. He knows the body beneath him, knows all the spots he likes to be touched, even where that place is inside that always had Anders begging for more.

Feeling the heat and tension coil tightly in his stomach, Karl is the first to come, pushing in deep before he empties his seed inside. Anders follows him over the edge only moments later, coming over Karl’s fingers with a dizzying moan.

Karl pulls out gently, sighing at the loss of the wet, warm grip over his softening cock. The sweat that rolls and beads on his body drips onto Anders’ chest, intermingling with the sheen that has formed there. He quickly checks over Anders, who is completely still except for the heaves of his chest as he catches his breath. Eyes crack open to reveal those amber hues that Karl has never forgotten, his bleary gaze easily settling on Karl’s face.

Neither of them speak a word.

It’s in this moment that everything feels so suddenly real, like the whole evening has been both a dream and a nightmare and he’s just now waking up from it. His heart skips a beat, thumping angrily against his ribcage as Karl realizes what he’s just done.

He’s violated the one good thing he’s ever had in his life, taking advantage of his beloved Anders’ broken state of mind. The other man was only following his master’s command, simply trying to be obedient as he’s been trained to be. Karl wasn’t supposed to be in that equation—despite how badly he wanted, no, _needed_ to see Anders again. It’s not his place to insert himself into Anders’ life again, especially since he’s forgotten him. After tonight, he’s no better than anyone else who has taken Anders without his full, uninfluenced consent.

“I’m so sorry…” Karl begins, hanging his head. “... I’m so, _so_ sorry, Anders.”

The body beneath his freezes, every muscle tensing. “No…” Anders’ voice is shaking with disbelief. “No, it _can’t_ be.”

The words, not syrupy sweet with false charm, capture Karl’s attention, instantly snapping him out of his post-orgasm haze. Anders’ eyes stare widely back at him and a surge of hope floods through his chest.

“... Karl?” Anders asks, his voice barely over a whisper. Stunned, Karl nods shakily and pushes his cheek into Anders' outstretched palm. “Oh, _Karl._ ”

In a blur, Anders wraps his entire body around Karl’s, clinging to him tightly. Barely having time to register the relief washing over him, Karl returns the embrace, gripping Anders to his chest. He can feel the other man’s body tremble violently as he sobs.

“It’s you, oh Maker, it’s really you,” Anders says, voice cracking as he repeats it like a prayer. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“I’m here, love,” Karl replies, feeling full tears welling up in his eyes and overflowing over his cheeks. It’s been years since he’s last cried, hasn’t had the reason to, until now. He can’t stop them even if he tried, not when Anders—the real, true Anders—is finally back in his arms.

“I promise,” Karl begins between sobs, holding Anders like the most precious thing in his life—which he is. “I’ll never lose you again. I won’t let anyone take you from me, never again.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Slavery Specifics:** This is a slave au where they are both taken from their home and put into slavery, so there isn’t a power-indifference between them in that regard nor is there any romanticization of slavery. However, Anders does not remember Karl and is so broken/abused/trained that he throws himself at Karl as his master commands. There is a happy ending, with plenty of angst on the way.
> 
>  **Noncon/Consent Specifics:** Anders is a broken spirit and trained body slave, so none of it is consensual because of those circumstances, but nothing in this is violently forceful. Anders obediently gives his master a BJ, but Anders does _all_ of the initiating with Karl. If it helps, this is all Karl's POV and he's absolutely fucking horrified about their situations and what has become of Anders.
> 
> Anywho, find me on tumblr @ storybookhawke


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